


attraho

by leprixx



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Breathplay, Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Non-Sexual Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leprixx/pseuds/leprixx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Expecting a fight?" He asks, lips curling at the corners when it makes Stiles' fingers twitch. "You're not getting that."</p>
            </blockquote>





	attraho

Peter was even making an effort trying, this time. Actually had himself worked into a good space when it was there, suddenly, impossibly loud. Quick.

He opens his eyes, breathes in Stiles and anxiety. Tries to pace their heartbeats so that they hearts can synchronize.

"Yes?" He asks, not moving. Unnaturally still, because he can. A werewolf, not trying to play pretend. A man, meditating. A mix of man and wolf, trying to find an anchor. Searching for control that was lost to fire and antiseptic.

"I thought you-" Stiles stops. His eyebrows move like when he's trying not to sound crude. Peter knows the boy is going to fail as soon as he opens his mouth.

"Still alive." And unmoving, because being in a coma for six years teaches you some tricks. "You wanted something?"

"Just a test" Stiles says, but his heartbeat skips. 

Peter raises an eyebrow and barely has time to grow his claws before the world is burning purple, hazy, black.

\--

"Lydia had some interesting things to say about the use of powdered wolfsbane." Stiles says, conversationally, finishing the knot that ties Peter to the bedpost of his unmade bed, sheets smelling of exhaustion and teenage boy. Adderal and cum. He wonders how he got there, at how a wiry boy with still healing bruises managed to get a dead man from his nephew's loft to the Sheriff's home. How he hid Peter in his jeep, how he managed to get him up the stairs. Determination, maybe - a spark of curiosity, or revenge. Both, probably.

"She did find herself quite interested in me, yes." He jabs, because he's been tied down by a seventeen - sixteen? - year old boy who burned him to death, once. Not long ago. Because he's still Peter, still cruel, still alive. Able to do inside a girl's broken mind what the human above him failed to do for years. 

"Not really my point but yeah, suit yourself." Stiles steps back and considers Peter, spends a few silent moments contemplating him before lowering himself, using the bed for support as his knees start to press one hundred and forty seven pounds of boy against one hundred and too many pounds of declared-dead werewolf. "Was wondering for how long a werewolf could hold his breath, how much of this purple shit I'd need to knock our resident zombie uncle out. Then, hey, why not kill two birds with one stone?" 

"You could have asked" He replies, wolfsbane burning down his airways.

"Yeah, no." Stiles sounds bitter, frayed at the seams. Like someone who knows the futility of asking, in a world full of evil and outlaws. Like someone who's seen a glimpse of the supernatural and regrets the knowledge, even as he wraps his pale fingers around Peter's neck and digs his fingernails in. Regrets but doesn't deny it, doesn't stop wandering on the outskirts of the unknown.

"So." Peter says, because it's been a minute. His ribcage is still being pressed down by Stiles' knees, both wrists limp where they're tied together by a strange-smelling mix of rope and wolfsbane.

"Wasn't really expecting this." Stiles mumbles, shifting. The firmness of his thighs are almost emanating heat, against his stomach. Trying to sink in, against the immutable force of someone stronger. Some _thing_ stronger. 

"Expecting a fight?" He asks, lips curling at the corners when it makes Stiles' fingers twitch. "You're not getting that." And opens his mouth, just a bit.

"Should've known." Their eyes meet and Stiles squints at him for a moment before shifting. Knees sliding, thighs coming to bracket Peter's ribcage. Kneeling above him, finally, some remnants of powdered wolfsbane falling off the creases of his overshirt and making Peter's nose twitch, his eyes burn. "Never really sure if you're too easy or too hard." Swallowing back another comment, then snorting. "Hard, huh." He considers Peter for a moment longer before leaning away, stretching, until the inside of his left knee is nudging Peter's thighs apart.

Peter allows him, feeling heat and finding Stiles' heartbeat, slower but sure. "Didn't think you'd want that." He presses down until the tip of his nose touches skin, hair of the boy's arm tickling him. 

"I want a lot of things." Stiles says, and then his body is slotting itself over Peter's, weight unbearably good and firmness delicious. He's hard, too, erection bumping against Peter's side as the boy settles, rolling him with his leg until they're both on their sides, Peter's arms bending awkwardly over his head, bones shifting with the effort. There are still hands around his throat, though they are now loose, just resting. Their faces are close enough that Peter can breathe in boy and warmth, can lick his lips and roll his hips, enjoying the way their legs are tangled together, how Stiles' breath hitches.

"I've been known to make good offers." He murmurs, when Stiles closes his eyes and lets Peter brush their lips together. He draws in another lungful of air and holds it in, when Stiles decides to add more pressure, making him breathless with intention.

Stiles kisses him, slow, mostly lips pressing against his until he gives in and exhales. Peter goes with it, opens his mouth and drags a plump lower lip between his, nips it. Licks his way into the boy's mouth, enjoying it, the forbidden and sweet. 

 

(Stiles comes all over his stomach, lets his teenage-boy cum dry on the trail of hair leading down to Peter's impossibly hard erection. Pecks him once before throwing him in darkness once more.

When Peter wakes, he's alone and anchored, Stiles' pulse a ghost against the inside of his skull.)


End file.
